In the middle of our conversation
my eyes are drawn
to the pale,
translucent skin of your throat,
to the shadowed hollow
and your perfect bones.
I am struck blind
by the holiest of visions.
Later staring out of the darkness
my fears are stilled
by the soft
remembered curve of your smile,
and the touch of your hand
when once alone.
I am sublime
with glorious religion.
Copyright the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photograph stolen from TheAppleScientist
I discovered today, quite by chance, that I had recorded the audio for this poem, but never published it. So a thin excuse for a repost